The Name of the Wind

Lorren turned to look at the Chancellor. “I will be leaving for Tarbean tomorrow to fetch necessary materials for the upcoming term. If it is there I will bring it back. The matter of the boy’s claim can be settled then.”

The Chancellor gave a small nod. “Thank you, Master Lorren.” He settled himself back into his chair and folded his hands in front of himself. “Very well, then. What would Abenthy’s letter tell us, if he had written it?”

I took a good breath. “He would say that I knew by heart the first ninety sympathetic bindings. That I could double-distill, perform titration, calcify, sublimate, and precipitate solution. That I am well versed in history, argument, grammars, medicine, and geometry.”

The Chancellor did his best to not look amused. “That’s quite a list. Are you sure you didn’t leave anything out?”

I paused. “He probably would have also mentioned my age, sir.”

“How old are you, boy?”

“Kvothe, sir.”

A smile tugged at the Chancellor’s face. “Kvothe.”

“Fifteen, sir.” There was a rustle as the masters each took some small action, exchanged glances, raised eyebrows, shook their heads. Hemme rolled his eyes skyward.

Only the Chancellor did nothing. “How exactly would he have mentioned your age?”

I gave a thin sliver of a smile. “He would have urged you to ignore it.”

There was a breath of silence. The Chancellor drew a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. “Very well. We have a few questions for you. Would you like to begin, Master Brandeur?” He made a gesture toward one end of the crescent table.

I turned to face Brandeur. Portly and balding, he was the University’s Master Arithmetician. “How many grains are in thirteen ounces?”

“Six thousand two hundred and forty,” I said immediately.

He raised his eyebrows a little. “If I had fifty silver talents and converted them to Vintish coin and back, how much would I have if the Cealdim took four percent each time?”

I started the ponderous conversion between currencies, then smiled as I realized it was unnecessary. “Forty-six talents and eight drabs, if he’s honest. Forty-six even if he’s not.”

He nodded again, looking at me more closely. “You have a triangle,” he said slowly. “One side is seven feet. Another side, three feet. One angle is sixty degrees. How long is the other side?”

“Is the angle between the two sides?” He nodded. I closed my eyes for the space of half a breath, then opened them again. “Six feet six inches. Dead even.”

He made a hmmmpfh noise and looked surprised. “Good enough. Master Arwyl?”

Arwyl asked his question before I had time to turn and to face him. “What are the medicinal properties of hellebore?”

“Anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, mild sedative, mild analgesic. Blood purifier.” I said, looking up at the grandfatherly, spectacled old man. “Toxic if used excessively Dangerous for women who are with child.”

“Name the component structures that comprise the hand.”

I named all twenty-seven bones, alphabetically Then the muscles from largest to smallest. I listed them quickly, matter-of-factly pointing out their locations on my own upraised hand.

The speed and accuracy of my answers impressed them. Some of them hid it, others wore it openly on their faces. The truth was, I needed to impress them. I knew from my previous discussions with Ben that you needed money or brains to get into the University. The more of one you had, the less of the other you needed.

So I was cheating. I had snuck into Hollows through a back entrance, acting the part of an errand boy. Then I’d picked two locks and spent more than an hour watching other students’ interviews. I heard hundreds of questions and thousands of answers.

I also heard how high the other students’ tuitions were set. The lowest had been four talents and six jots, but most were double that. One student had been charged over thirty talents for his tuition. It would be easier for me to get a piece of the moon than that much money.

I had two copper jots in my pocket and no way to get a bent penny more. So I needed to impress them. More than that. I needed to confound them with my intelligence. To dazzle them.

I finished listing the muscles of the hand and started in on the ligatures when Arwyl waved me into silence and asked his next question. “When do you bleed a patient?”

The question brought me up short. “When I want him to die?” I asked dubiously.

He nodded, mostly to himself. “Master Lorren?”

Master Lorren was pale and seemed unnaturally tall even while sitting. “Who was the first declared king of Tarvintas?”

“Posthumously? Feyda Calanthis. Otherwise it would be his brother, Jarvis.”

“Why did the Aturan Empire collapse?”